


Glitter in the Dark

by BadLightning (221BFakerStreet)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Genderfluid Character, Genderfuck, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Mild Blood, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 14:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12435063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221BFakerStreet/pseuds/BadLightning
Summary: There is no absolution at the bottom of a bottle, and the barrel of a gun is a two-way street. These are the two things that Percival Graves knows for certain. He rests his head gently against the well-worn cotton of hospital sheets covering Credence's stomach, and he knows a third thing.AKA: The weird Equalizer AU that literally nobody on earth asked for or wanted, but I wrote it anyway.





	Glitter in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently, I started writing a weird The Equalizer/Gravebone AU to the tune of Laura by Bat For Lashes and To Build a Home by The Cinematic Orchestra. I don't know either, but here ya go, enjoy. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Featuring genderfuck!Credence and killer-with-a-heart-of-gold!Graves.
> 
> AND I WAS GONNA DO PORN BUT IT TURNED INTO PLOT AND EMOTIONAL FUCKERY I AM SO HOPELESS I SWEAR TO GOD. XD

 

 

**Part One**

They meet in a diner at 3am, one chilly night in October. Credence is wearing 5-inch black heels that are killing his calves, and a glittery gold halter dress that's just shy of indecent. The club scene is worn out, and he thinks maybe it's not just the time of night, but he himself that's tired. It used to be exciting, getting dolled up and partying and kissing boys under black-lights that made his skin glow. Back when everything was new and frightening but more strangely pleasing for it.

Now, he sits at the counter of Rosie's Diner eating pumpkin pie with whipped cream and seriously considering the trajectory of his life. Sighing in exasperation, he reaches down and unstraps his heels, kicks them lightly to the floor, and settles his feet onto the cool metal rung of the bar stool.

“Rough night?”

The voice from the corner startles him, clear and deep, and he turns to consider its source. A man in a well pressed suit reclines in his chair, book in hand, mug of coffee in front of him. His eyes stray momentarily to Credence's face, and then back to the pages. There's a subtle gray creeping in at the man's temples, bleeding into brown hair so dark it's almost black. It sets something stirring in Credence, and he takes another bite of his pie while he gathers himself to reply.

“Something like that… yours looks pretty calm, though. For three in the morning.”

The man's finger twitches on a page and for a moment, Credence worries that he's said the wrong thing, that somehow this will end with him dead in an alleyway. Instead, the man chuckles warmly and sets his book down. He clasps his hands together, elbows on the table, and sets his chin atop them.

“A little _too_ calm, maybe,” he says, rather cryptically. “I couldn't sleep.”

“Me neither,” Credence replies without much thought, and blushes as the man’s gaze sweeps over him, assessing.

“You sleep in six-inch heels?” Eyebrow raised, sitting up slightly, he cuts a rather charming figure. And Credence _is_ , despite himself, charmed.

He barks out a laugh, and turns more fully on the stool to face the mystery man, considering. “Wanted to leave the club, but… didn't want to go home.” He fiddles with the hem of his dress, teal painted fingernails catching on the sequins. Curls of black hair fall into his eyes and when he glances up to wipe his bangs from his brow he sees a familiar look in the man's eyes, something like pain, or a little like hope.

“I'm Credence, by the way.” He doesn't quite understand why he's giving so much, so soon, but something in his blood sings at that look.

“Graves,” says the man, “Percival.” He clears his throat, a tinge of red just visible on his cheeks. “You can call me Percy.”

And that is the first time they meet.

 

♡♡♡

 

The second time they meet, Credence is tipsy enough to bring his pie to Percy's table, silverware clattering against the chipped Formica.

His attire tonight consists of a black long-sleeved crop top and high-waisted shorts, with Converse hi-tops this time instead of heels. Work has been hell on his feet lately, and he's not in the habit of damaging himself beyond repair. So, he sits and tries to untangle one gold hoop earring from his windswept hair as Percy watches, half in concern and half in amusement.

“Here,” he says, leaning forward, “let me.”

Credence leans forward as well, and Percival reaches toward him with gentle hands, fingers tugging fine strands away from the tangle. They’re so close he can see the lines on the older man's face, barely there, and the concentration he's investing in this simple act. When he's done, he smooths Credence's hair behind his ear, and Credence doesn't lean back when Percy catches his gaze and holds it for a second that seems to exist in its own timeline, suspended forever. They’re _so_ close, and Credence is _just_ tipsy enough…

The moment is broken by an obnoxiously loud ringtone, the notes of Salt n Pepa’s “Shoop” playing from Credence's pocket, and he pulls his phone out with shaking hands. He can’t hide his wince when he reads the name blinking up at him from his generic prepaid smart phone, and sighs as he turns the ringer off and places his phone face down on the table.

“Sorry,” he says, turning back to his mystery man, as he’s come to think of him. “Hi. Thanks.”

Percy seems to want to say something, but instead he pulls back a bit to sit strait in his chair, and picks up his mug of what appears to be tea, and not coffee, as he had once assumed. He breathes in the wafting steam, and the ginger scent makes him think of Jacob and Newt, off on adventures without him but so much like home that he aches for their presence with a sudden ferocity he can feel in his throat.

“Glad to be of service,” Percy says, finally, and nudges one Oxford-clad shoe against Credence’s sneaker. He can’t tell if it’s on purpose, but the older man doesn’t apologize- in fact, he looks him right in the eye. While the phone call has sobered him somewhat, he’s still running on the last dregs of endorphins and Screwdrivers, so he leans his cheek on his hand and looks up at Percy through fluttering lashes, takes a slow bite of his pie- rhubarb this time- and licks the fork.

“You like serving people, Percy?” He can’t believe his own voice for a moment, low and sweet in a way it’s never been inside a club, or even with Newt when he’d still had a ridiculous and useless crush on the zoologist. And Percy, for his part, seems to stare right through him, or into him; breaking the surface of his skin and tearing it asunder in ways that unmoor him.

Credence’s phone buzzes between them, skittering across the table in its urgency. Wide-eyed, he stares at it for a moment, and then drops his fork to pick it up, glaring as he punches the touch screen with his finger.

“What?” He’s not quite shouting, but his voice is hard, annoyed, and he can’t bring himself to care as the syrupy cadence on the other end of the line reminds him that he left some expensive art supplies at Gellert’s apartment, that they can meet now if he’s not busy because Gellert is leaving on a business trip tomorrow and Credence threw away his key. And Credence glances at Percy nervously, tries not to bite his newly manicured nails.

He apologizes to Percy, who gives him a card with his cell phone number hastily scribbled on the back, and kisses the man’s cheek as he stands to leave. Because, on a normal day, in the bright light and absent of alcohol and melancholy thoughts of how _lonely_ he is, he likes to think he wouldn’t risk it. But, he tells himself, those art supplies _are_ expensive, and he’s just tipsy enough to go.

 

 

**Part Two**

Credence is so small in the hospital bed when Percival looks in at him, which is so strange and incongruous given that he has a few inches on Percy when the boy’s _not_ wearing heels. But he looks diminished, somehow, and the very thought pulls something deep from the pit of Percival's stomach, a creature that keens and cries for payment in blood. It's a thing which he has kept caged, has not been let loose since he was a soldier in Piquery's small army. It frightens him enough to make him turn away from the sad scene, and look toward the tall red-head and his companion. ‘Credence's friends,’ he'd said, ‘his _best_ friends, and who are _you_?’

He'd been surprised at the look on Newt’s face when he'd introduced himself properly, like a clearing of fog. Jacob's intonation of ‘you must be his mystery man!’ had almost made him blush.

“Do either of you know who might've done this?” He asks without preamble, the itch under his skin not allowing him to dabble in pleasantries.

They tell him a story, then, of a young man with a difficult life, a lonely man whose friends had been a world away and who's voices of reason had not been enough to keep him from courting danger in the form of one Gellert Grindelwald.

“I should've come _back_.” Newt says this with such ferocity, that Percy has to look at him closer. He must like what he sees, because he offers what comfort he can.

“You're here, now, when he really needs you. And he's going to need you. Both of you.”

The silence is heavy around them. For Percival, at least, it is like a burial shroud. He looks in on Credence one last time, and when he leaves he feels as though he's walking toward his own funeral.

 

♡♡♡

 

Gellert Grindelwald is easy enough to find, with a little help from Tina and Queenie. Strictly speaking, one is not supposed to use government contacts in order to seek out retribution for personal matters. Strictly speaking, Percival really doesn't give a shit. He has given so much of his life, and nearly all of his own self, to a cause that has left his very soul battered. It owes him _something_ , he thinks. At the very least, it owes him this.

“Do you know what you're getting yourself into?” Tina asks, ever the worrier. She knows he can handle himself, but they are still friends. Queenie simply smiles at him knowingly, and carries on pouring their tea.

“That's why I'm here, Goldstein,” he says, not unkindly. “You were always the best at recon.”

“Flattery will get you _nowhere_ ,” she replies, and he can't help but smile. The corner of her mouth twitches, and he thinks maybe he'll be okay. Maybe they'll _all_ be okay.

“Gellert Grindelwald, known associate of the Russians. Did some wetwork for Antonov back in the day, but he's since moved into the import export business. He's trying to start his very own criminal enterprise right here in New York City. Drugs, mostly.” A thick file folder hits the table with a thwack, and Percival takes a moment to thumb through it.

“He's kind of a dick, honestly.” Graves laughs at Tina’s flatly delivered statement. It's true, though. The file gets worse the more he looks at it, and he sends a silent prayer of thanks to whatever God might be listening that Credence is still alive.

“Any associates I should know about?”

“Seems like he's flying solo for this run,” Queenie answers instead, setting her tea cup back in its saucer. “I'd still be careful, though, honey. He's a slippery fish, this fella; one a' those too smart for his own good types. Bound to have some tricks up his sleeve.”

Percy takes the advice to heart. Tina is the best at interpreting _data_ , and Queenie is the best at interpreting _people_.

He stays for dinner at Queenie's insistence, and by the time he gets back home, he knows what he's going to do. He'll visit Credence in the morning, and then he'll get to work.

 

♡♡♡

 

There is no absolution at the bottom of a bottle, and the barrel of a gun is a two-way street. These are the two things that Percival Graves knows for certain. He rests his head gently against the well-worn cotton of hospital sheets covering Credence's stomach, and he knows a third thing.

Credence is awake, and his thumb swipes over Percy's cheekbone as his fingers card through the graying hair of his temple. Percy closes his eyes, so he doesn't have to see the look on Credence's face when he tells him, and reveals the monster underneath. A different kind, useful, but a monster nonetheless.

"I found him," he says, voice thick with unshed tears. "I can take care of it." He is surprised, despite all of his carefully laid plans, at his own conviction, what he is willing to do for this man he hardly knows. The silence pricks at his skin, and he starts to move away.

"Okay," Credence says, and his voice is small in the bright room, but it is strong.

"Okay," Percy says, and turns to kiss the palm of the hand cradling his face.

He is laid bare here, in the presence of this resilience, this sweetness that smiles in the face of death and destruction. When he leaves, it will be with a fire at his back, pushing him ever forward through flesh and bone and into the arms of something greater.

 

♡♡♡

 

"You're a difficult man to place, Mr. Graves." The man across from him in the restaurant is a strange sort, eyes two different colors, and hair wild and so blond it's almost white. He cuts his steak methodically, but his white knuckles speak of a tenseness that he is practiced at hiding. Graves smiles blandly at him.

"Am I?"

Gellert swallows his bite of food, sets his silverware down, and pats at his smiling mouth with a cloth napkin.

"Oh," he says, "come, now, Percival. Let's not be coy. You have quite the reputation, once one knows who to ask." He folds his hands under his chin, grinning full-on like some kind of mad creature bearing its skull, stripped of flesh. It's disturbing, to be sure, but Graves doesn't flinch.

"Then you should know," Graves says, leaning back comfortably in his chair, "what I intend to do."

Gellert's grin falters for just a moment, a twitch at the side of his mouth, and then he's picking up his glass of wine to take a sip. "Yes, well. I think that should be obvious enough." He pauses to drink, and then continues, "How _is_ Credence, by the way? I haven't had a moment free to go visit him."

Graves pulls his emotions away, locks them in a box inside where they rattle about like a frightened animal. The monster smiles out from his mouth, from in-between his teeth, and he sees Gellert's smug expression quail under the force of it.

"So, Gellert- may I call you Gellert? -here's what's going to happen: you're going to leave, and you're never going to come back. You're going to disappear." He waits, stares, unblinking, into heterochromatic eyes full of barely contained rage.

"And if I don't?" The words are practically spit at him, and Graves leans forward to mirror Gellert's earlier position.

"Yes, well. I think that should be obvious enough."

He doesn't wait for the response he knows is coming; he's not interested in words. In the back of his mind, he knows how this will end, can see the train barreling at him down the tracks. He leaves the restaurant with a grim set to his jaw, counting down the hours to impact.

It comes, as these things do, in the middle of the night. He is ready when it does.

 

♡♡♡

 

Percy walks into the hospital soaking wet from the pouring rain. It has rinsed most of the blood from him, but outside the wash of earthy water it springs up anew from cuts on his face and his hands, makes a watercolor of his skin. He imagines he looks a state, bruises forming across skin and peeking their way round the edges of his clothes, but he simply makes his way toward Credence’s room, and nobody stops him.

It must be early morning by now; he can see dawn’s rays peeking through the blinds in the hallway as he walks. He can hear Newt’s voice as though it’s coming from the end of a tunnel, and it never quite gets close enough, even when he passes him and when his grimy hand grips the handle of the door.

He’s fairly certain someone who isn’t Credence says his name, but all he can concentrate on is the young man’s face caught somewhere between terror and relief, looking him over. His hair is up in a ponytail, but some of it is escaping to brush his neck and his collar bone, and Percival is all at once _undone_. He collapses into Credence’s arms, smiling into the hospital gown that still covers his chest. Feels those long, artful fingers gently brushing through his hair, gripping his back as though he might otherwise float away into the ether. But Percival, for his part, feels so very anchored.

“It’s done,” he says, and he doesn’t care who knows or sees his tears. Joy and pain have wound tight together inside of him for so long, choking the very life from his lungs. He has been stung by loss and regret and shame, a life full of smiles and tender touches and the snap of bone, the smell of gunpowder and antiseptic and death; spent so much time in a fathomless darkness of his own making. Now he is laughing, or he is crying, but so is Credence. He holds on tightly to this man, this moment. This is enough light to live by, he thinks. Enough for even the darkest day. Enough to lose it again, ten times over, and still be full to bursting.

 

 

**_Epilogue_ **

It is winter in New York, and the Christmas lights give the city a warm glow. Percy is holding Credence’s hand, and they are walking back to their place in the falling snow.

They’ve just been to Queenie and Jacob’s house, where they spent the evening watching Newt and Tina nervously fawn over each other and eating the best roast turkey they’d ever tasted. It was wildly unfair, Credence thinks, that one couple should have so much culinary mastery between them. And yet they’ve been sent home with two Tupperware containers full of leftovers, so he won’t complain too much about it.

Percival stops for a moment, and Credence nearly starts to tug him along again before he looks up toward whatever it is that’s holding his boyfriend’s attention. The sign is glowing neon red and blue in the window, fake holly branches are adorning the entryway and there among them, nearly hidden...

Credence does tug at Percy’s hand, then, pulling him into his arms.

“Mistletoe,” he says, grinning as their faces drift closer together. Bumping noses, Percy’s smile widens, and he teases, lips barely brushing lips. Credence isn’t having it though, and he presses forward, the crunch of snow under his boots echoing in the uncommonly quiet streets of their neighborhood. The kiss takes his breath away, just like each one before. Just like each one after.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the shitty epilogue. I might edit this later, cause it's not... edited.


End file.
